In Service of The State
by AlessNox
Summary: A good planner stays out of the spotlight. Anthea will do what she has to do to keep the state working at its best, and to protect the one who taught her how to use her talents, Mr. Mycroft Holmes.
1. Chapter 1

Anthea sat behind the wheel of a huge black car with tinted windows. It was an antique. She didn't doubt that it had once been used to drive Soviet party members. That was part of the reason that she had chosen it. She suspected that it would stop bullets unlike the tiny modern cars that she passed on the roadway.

The town looked modern now. It could almost be London, but the traces of it's history revealed itself in the war memorials and the names of the streets. There were new wars going on now. Wars that no one ever talked about. Wars that most people never saw, and she was in one. A soldier in her own right, although you'd never recognize it from her sculpted hair and high heels. She had never thought, back in her youth when she had learned to drive by going round and round the drive of her boyfriend's estate, that she would one day be in Eastern Europe behind the wheel of a huge monstrosity of a car going to pick up two people who would, by most definitions, be considered spies. That would make her a spy by association. She smiled as she tried to think which **00** number would be assigned to her.

She parked the car along a tree covered road. The shadowy light of early evening made outlines unclear even as the trees glowed brighter in the blue twilight. She unlocked the back doors and waited.

Before long, the door opened and he climbed in, wearing a big coat and a fur-edged hat. He dragged in the body of another man, thin, long-haired, and covered with scratches. She looked twice before pulling the car out, heading to the next town where she had set up an office just the way that he liked it.

At the stop sign, she took a moment to look down at her phone, which she had balanced in what used to be an old style mobile telephone holder. That marked the age of this vehicle more clearly than anything else. Unlike the bulky black phone it was designed for, her phone was thin and flat with a bright display showing a series of charts, and the crown icon that meant that all was well in Brittania.

She glanced over her shoulder and watched as Mycroft used a handkerchief to wipe his brother's brow. She smiled, speeding up as she got onto the highway. Seeing Sherlock Holmes half-dead with long, ragged hair that made him look like a wild animal was odd, but not outside expectations considering his hobby of dressing up as a homeless person. The strange thing was seeing Mycroft Holmes in disguise. It was a novelty to see him without his customary suit on. He looked so different than he had that first time that she had met him.

* * *

She had been dressed her best then. A stunning brunette in light-teal silk, she looked far too fine for the stuffy academic hall that she stood in, all wood grain and brown leather. Oxford was full of wood grain and brown leather. Consequence of being an old place drowning in tradition.

It wasn't completely traditional her being here. In days past, no women were allowed in these hallowed halls, except for the cleaning staff. She was certainly not staff, although she was serving in a way. She had planned this party, right down to the timing of the courses, and the thickness of the red and gold coasters in the smoking room.

Planning parties was something that she did effortlessly. She had planned her first function while still in primary school and people were still talking about it. She was here because of Helen, a former schoolmate, who had tracked her down and asked for her help. Several important government officials had agreed to attend, and Helen was frightened that alone, she would make a rum job of it. Helen had begged, and pleaded only stopping when she noticed her pulling out her phone to search for a decent pair of shoes for the event. She knew that once she had started seriously thinking about a problem, then she wouldn't stop until she had solved it.

It was the details that made a function work, and her parties always went flawlessly because she could see in her mind's eye where everyone would be and anticipate what everyone would want. By the time that the party actually started, however, she was bored with it. There was no more mystery. People walked where she expected them to walk. Mingled where she expected them to mingle. Snuck out to smoke a fag where she had planned them to do so. There was rarely anything unexpected once the guests began to arrive. She already wanted to go home.

Only two things kept her here. One was her bespoke teal dress that she had had specially dyed, with shoes to match in a subtle shade that had not been seen in such a dress for the last five years. It would be a shame to go to such trouble only to leave after the first thirty minutes. The other reason was the fact that Helen had been her loyal friend at the girl's school that she had started at before her parents had traded up to a more prestigious one. She was a simple girl with long blond hair and moderate intelligence but she had stayed her friend when others had rejected her for being too pretty (As if she would want to steal their dates!) and she had always liked Helen's classical name so unlike her boring one. She was standing in this room because Helen would probably implode if she wasn't close by in case of emergencies.

Today's function was in honor of the recent graduates of the Philosophy, Politics, and Economics degree. They were golden boys and girls waiting to take their place in the halls of government. This dinner was a mixture of tradition with a bit of fun mixed in. The politicians got a chance to visit their _alma mater_, get a good meal under their belt, and possibly find a new aid, while the graduates got a chance to mix and mingle with those in power.

Helen aspired to some mingling of her own, especially with a certain graduate by the name of David who was, by all accounts, a rising star on the political landscape. He had a nose for power that she couldn't help but admire.

Politics had always fascinated her in a logistical kind of way. How people and words could elicit large scale actions to occur. It was a sort of hobby of hers. Not her major of course. None of this was what she had come to University to study, but that didn't make it any less interesting. As she looked around the room she could trace the lines of power and connection from one person to the next, but 'people watching' had never been something that interested her.

Helen, however, was in her element, greeting people and shaking hands. Anthea stood nearby, close enough to the door to give the impression that she was participating without being close enough to have to talk to anyone. She was considering going to the cloak room where she had hidden her purse. _Why had she left her phone in it? She might have passed the time playing a game._ When she noticed a man standing beside her.

He was an older man, but not as old as he dressed, brown hair with a hint of red, blue eyes, and an unreadable smile. She was surprised, because she hadn't noticed his approach. He seemed to be one of the politicians invited, but she had memorized the faces of everyone on the list, and he was not one of them. Could he be someone's political aid? Hardly. Something about his gaze told her that he understood who the real planner behind this party was because it was the same job that he had held somewhere else. He smiled at her and then turned his face away. She stared at him.

He wore a teal tie, but it wasn't just that it was teal. It was the exact shade of teal as her dress. No one sold that color, not this season. She had researched it thoroughly. Where had he got that tie? She wanted to ask, but the feeling that she already knew the answer held her back.

She watched as David (yes, that one) walked up to the man and held out a hand.

"Mr Holmes, I've heard so much about you. I'm so glad to finally meet you in person."  
"Ah, yes David is it? and how is your father?"  
"He's well."  
"And your brother, did he enjoy his trip to Greece?"  
"How did... I mean yes, he brought me back some olive oil. Don't know what to do with it. I don't do much cooking myself."  
"Well, perhaps the young lady will be able to find a use for it," he said nodding toward Helen who glided up to David's side taking his arm.  
"David, do you think that you might be able to introduce me?"  
"Certainly, Mrs Helen Bakersfield-Keaton this is Mr. Mycroft Holmes a very important man in the government."  
"Charmed Miss Keaton, but he exaggerates. I only hold a minor position."  
Anthea waved a finger to get Helen's attention and nodded toward the man. Helen raised an eyebrow at her, and then turned toward him. "Oh, Mr Holmes. This is my good friend Patricia Sutton."  
"Hello," she said taking his hand.  
He gazed at her with an intensity that suggested that he was reading her down to the molecular level. Then he smiled. "Enchanted," he said.  
"So, Mr Holmes, who did you arrive with? Did you come with one of our guests?"  
"I suppose, Miss Sutton, that you are referring to the fact that I was not on the guest list. I apologize for coming to your party unannounced. There was someone here that I wished to meet."  
"Oh no, I didn't mean to make you feel unwelcome. I only wanted to know if you needed me to set a place for you at dinner."  
"Oh yes, you can sit beside me," David said. "Helen can you change the cards?"  
"But I have you next to the deputy chairman."  
"Please don't bother yourself on my account," Mycroft said.  
"No, really, it's no bother. I'll go handle that now," David said before rushing off with Helen at his heels.

Anthea (Patricia) brushed back a lock of her dark hair and smiled at the man. He must be someone important for David to be that flustered, but she had never heard his name before. She wanted her phone so that she could _google_ him. She plastered a smile onto her face wondering how soon she could leave to get her bag without seeming rude. "So Mr Holmes, you came here for business? Who is it that you wanted to meet? I'm sure that I can help you find them."  
"Would you believe it if I said that I came here to meet you?"  
Patricia laughed. "Why Mr Holmes, you flatter me?"  
"I assure you that I am serious. Might we have a chat over dinner?"

"Well, I won't be sitting at the head table."  
"Not here. My car is waiting at the side door."  
She frowned. Through no fault of her own, Patricia had inherited startlingly good looks. An interest in fashion and pride in her appearance made it so that she always tried to look her best. Sometimes this made others mistake her for quite a different type of hostess.  
"I'm sorry, Mr Holmes, but if you..."  
"You mistake my meaning. I am not seeking a liaison of a romantic or sexual nature, no. I read your paper."  
"Excuse me?"  
"Technical Vulnerabilities of British Government Finance Servers. Brilliant work!"  
"Interesting that you should think so. I didn't think that anyone had seen it. They refused to publish it."  
"Only the fifth undergraduate essay to be classified secret by the government since Oxford's founding. Quite impressive."  
"And yet you were able to get a copy of it."  
"I have been following your studies for some time."  
"Have you?"  
"I'm sure that if you take a moment to think about it, you will realize the truth of my words."  
"Your tie. That shade isn't sold over the counter. You must have had it specially dyed."  
"Things of quality often take time to create. How long have you been planning this event, Miss Sutton?"  
"About four months."  
"It is quite tasteful. One can see the care that has gone into planning it. I am impressed."  
"Mr Holmes, would you mind telling me how long ago did you order that tie?"  
"I ordered it about four months ago."  
"I'd be honored to go to dinner with you, Mr. Holmes."  
He smiled, and held out his arm. She put her arm in his, and let him lead her away.


	2. Chapter 2

They took a private jet back to England. Sherlock Holmes lay back in his seat with his scarf over his face to block out the light while he slept. Mycroft Holmes stared at his brother. "He's sleeping," he said. "Sherlock doesn't like people to watch him sleeping. I haven't seen him asleep in years. The last time, he was in the hospital after...after the overdose."

His face was full of compassion. The mask of pleasant indifference that he wore most of the time had dropped. It was only his brother that caused him to let his let his guard down. Otherwise his was the same in crisis or calm, always prepared, always able to offer a new solution. Anthea admired that ability in him. Even so, she was honored that he let her see him at times like this when he wasn't being the British Government, he was only being a man. She wanted to help him somehow.

"Sir? Would you like some water?" she asked offering him a bottle.

He tore his eyes away from his brother and turned to her. "Yes, thank you," he said taking it.

Anthea climbed into the seat next to him and pulled out her phone. She stared at the display. When she looked up again, Mycroft Holmes' gaze was focused upon her. He was lying back in his chair attempting to rest, but those frighteningly intelligent blue eyes bored into her, searching.

"All is well with the commonwealth," she said reassuringly, and he smiled before closing his eyes to get some sleep. She stared down at him for a moment, and then pulled out a novel to read. It was a sordid little novel about a Roman general and his female captive. She had long since got over trying to hide her love of historical romances from Mycroft Holmes. He had a way of knowing a person's secrets with a glance. Sherlock Holmes could read a person's past from stains on their cuffs and wrinkles in their skin, but Mycroft Holmes could read a person's very soul. As he had that first evening.

After leaving the party, they dined at one of the best and most exclusive restaurants in London. The waiter had removed her serving of grouse, and had set out a plate of cheeses. Then he served a light red wine in a crystal goblet.

She took a sip, and the clean, sweet, fragrant wine caused her eyelids to flutter closed in pleasure. She opened her eyes to find him staring. "Now that we have concluded our meal, with your permission, I would like to talk business."

"This is a dessert wine," she said. "Aren't we going to have dessert first?"

"But you don't like dessert, Miss Sutton. You rarely eat sweets at all."

"You presume to know a great deal about me, Mr Holmes. Why do I rate such scrutiny?"

"Because it is rare that I find someone so well suited to my needs."

"Your needs? Who exactly are you, and what _needs _are you hoping that I will fulfill?"

"I run a small, but essential, department in the British government. You won't find it on the organizational charts. In fact, the department is mostly composed of myself alone. I have a secretary for appointments, and a driver, but what I really need is an assistant."

"Are you asking me to become your PA? That's hardly what I went to Oxford for."

"Yes, but one can't fault your typing speed."

She put on a face of quiet disdain. "I'm sorry Mr. Holmes, but I think that you are mistaken about me. I am not interested in becoming a personal assistant."

"Personal assistant will be your official title, but that is only for appearances. I have other work that I will expect from you, and you will be generously paid."

She frowned as she guessed what "other work" he was likely to be expecting. She rose to her feet. "Mr Holmes, If you think that I am the kind of woman that can be bought, then you don't know me at all. Good night."

Mycroft touched her shoulder gently with one hand, "It is you who are mistaken now, Miss Sutton. And not just about my offer. Please, hear me out. If I'm wrong about you, then I will have you driven back to the college and no harm done."

She turned back to face him, and something in the lilt of his eyes made her resume her seat. He sat down as well.

"Tell me then what you think you understand about me."

Mycroft Holmes leaned back in his chair, and his lips pursed slightly as if he were attempting to avoid a smile. "The party that you planned. It was the first one that you have planned in over five years. You used to get great enjoyment out of knowing what people would do and influencing how they would act. It was satisfying, wasn't it? To anticipate all of the possibilities and then to watch as all of your plans worked perfectly. And yet, somewhere along the way, you became disheartened with it all. What does it matter if you were the best hostess in the world? What good would that do the world as a whole? You found it to be pointless. You wanted to do something different with your life, so when you applied to University, you chose computer science instead of the classical literature that you loved. You chose that major in part because you have always been fascinated by technology, but mostly you did it to upset the expectations that everyone placed upon you. Computers were a place where no one that you had met before would follow you. A place where you weren't judged by your looks, but by your accomplishments.

"You succeeded because of your exquisite attention to detail, and you became well known within your sphere. You still enjoyed planning, people, and politics enough to research vulnerabilities in Government servers, and you found them. All over the place you found them. Your paper made quite a stir when it came out, I hope you know. It was very enlightening. As soon as I read it, I knew that I had to meet you."

"So you want me to fix the holes that I discovered in the government servers."

"No. There are others working on that now that we know of them. I want you for your other skill. Your instructors say that your knowledge of Artificial intelligence in nuanced and far reaching."

She smiled, "You've talked to Dr Bush have you?"

"Not only him. You are the darling of all of your instructors."

"So what kind of AI do you want me to write?"

"I want a model of the commonwealth."

"What part of it?"

"All of it. I want a measure of its health, its wealth, its safety, a monitoring program that will help me predict threats to the nation."

"That's a very big program, I don't know if it can be done."

"It's already been done, in a very basic form. There are a number of indexes that I monitor. They were written by Dr Scott Andrews."

"Dr. Andrews! He was the foremost authority on large scale computer modeling before his death two years ago. You say that he made a model of the commonwealth?"

He attempted to, but he didn't finish. The great problem is finding a way to make sense of the data produced."

"That's why you need an AI. A program that can interpret complex data and come out with a simple prediction."

"You've grasped the problem very quickly. Most people can't even understand the premise. Once I have an idea of where to look, I can use my existing resources to stop problems before they happen."

"But the program that you want. It would be very difficult to make."

"That is why I need you."

"But there are better programmers than me."

"Not for my purposes. Many programmers can understand data, but how many of them understand people the way that you do? No, Miss Sutton, there is no one better than you, and if it can be done, then you are the one who can do it."

"It would take time and money to set up."

"You can have as much money as you need. Time, on the other hand..."

She reached out and took another sip of her wine.

"I know of very few government offices with unlimited budgets. What exactly do you do?"

"I advise, organize, and monitor."

"Monitor what?"

"Everything."

"I don't understand."

"Let us suppose that a minister has a question about the Navy, South Korea, North Africa and the trade in illegal plutonium, he could consult many advisors or he could consult me. I make it my job to stay on top of things, to monitor things, so that I might most accurately advise those in power as to what actions to take."

"And this program I am to write. It is to help you monitor things."

"Yes."

"Isn't this all a bit Orwellian?"

"Just because someone is monitoring everything, it does not follow that this is a negative thing."

"It doesn't?"

"When you monitor a party, are you a malevolent force, or are you trying your best to make sure that everything runs smoothly? People go to the buffet table not because you have forced them to do so, but because they want to. You provide direction by planning where to place the plates and the forks, thus making sure that everyone gets served. Is that not the way a civilization should be run? You and I are no different in this respect. We seek to eliminate chaos and create order. We watch what people do naturally and use our knowledge to channel them to do those things that are best for the society as a whole. You may appear to others to be simply the PA of a middling government official, but in reality you will be directly responsible for monitoring threats to us all. Your work will improve the quality of life of every man, woman, and child in the commonwealth. So, my dear Miss Sutton, what do you think? Do I understand you, or would you like my driver to return you to the party?"

Anthea yawned. Both of the Holmes men were asleep now. She pulled out her phone and took a photo before checking the monitors again. The line was rising, but it was well within normal range. All was well with the commonwealth. She put her phone away, and closed her eyes, hoping to get a few hours rest before they landed.


	3. Chapter 3

Twenty hours later, Anthea returned to her flat. She bathed and sat on her bed taking time to brush out her hair. She'd simplified her beauty routine over the years. At first she had spent hours on her hair alone. These days, she didn't have the time. What once was a few hours a day in the office followed by a few more in the computer room evolved into days in the company of Mr Holmes. She had become ever more integral to his work. She reveled in the honor of being his primary support in his work, but it was murder on her beauty regime. She looked at the bags under her eyes with a hand mirror, and rubbed some moisturizer on it in order to soften the skin. Then she fell back on her bed exhausted. There was no knowing when he would call and request her back at work.

Her mother would have a thing or two to say to her if she saw her now, that is, if she ever talked to her mother again. She didn't visit home anymore, not since their last falling out.

"A PA you say?"

"Administrative Assistant."

"Which is another name for PA. We didn't send you to the best schools that money could by so that you could become a secretary!"

"Mother!"

"Don't you '_mother_' me. Did you know that your friend Helen's got herself engaged? Her mother called me just this morning to tell me. And what am I supposed to tell her when she calls, that you just got a job as a PA?"

"I don't care what you tell her, mother. I got a job. That should be good enough for anyone."

"A boring little job in a boring little office. You'll spend all of your time picking up his meals and buying his socks until you are so bored you'll have a sordid affair and all of your marriage prospects will fly out of the window."

"Don't be ridiculous, Mother, he's not even married."

"Is he in the cabinet?"

"No, he's a civil servant."

"That's not what I meant. Is he after you? Are you interested in him?"

"Mother, he's my boss!"

"Well, I still expect you to spend some time visiting some of your friends. Didn't you say that you were planning parties again? Let's have one at the house. We can invite some nice young men."

"I don't need help finding a date, mother, and I don't do parties anymore. I just did that for a friend. Anyway I've finished my degree now."

"You say that, but I haven't seen anything of that final paper that you claimed to have written."

"I told you, mother that it was classified."

Oh, classified, was it? I think that you figured out that you weren't going to be able to finish that horrible technical degree, and so you decided to take the first job that someone offered you. Didn't I tell you that good things come to those who wait. You should wait for the right opportunity to come along."

"But this is the right one, mother."

"Patty, with your looks, you should be able to get any number of men...:

"Why is it always about my looks? I do have a mind, you know."

"Then use it to find a good husband. You may think now that your beauty will last forever, but a pretty face and figure have a limited shelf life."

"We aren't living in Georgian times. A woman doesn't need to get married anymore to make something of herself."

"Times may have changed, but a woman still isn't complete until she's married."

"Then I'll always be incomplete, because I don't ever plan to."

"Patricia Sutton, as long as you are our daughter, you have a responsibility to make a respectable match."

"In that case, I'm not your daughter anymore."

"What are you talking about, Patty? I won't hear such idiocy from you. We let you take those computer courses because you were at the right school meeting the right people, but now you are just making a fool of yourself."

"You're the one being foolish, Mother. This is my life, and I can do what I want!" Patricia said as she opened the door and walked down the steps.

Her mother ran out after her. "Now you get back in this house right now, Patty!"

Patricia ignored her. She climbed into her car and drove away. The next day she woke early and drove to the registry office. It took a bit of paperwork to change her name from Patrica to Anthea, but it was worth it for the feeling of freedom that she gained.

When she arrived at work the next morning and Mr Holmes said, 'Good Morning, Anthea', she knew hat she had finally found her place .


	4. Chapter 4

Anthea was lying back at the sink in the beauty salon when her phone began to beep. She pulled it out and watched as one of the indexes dropped rapidly. The crown icon turned orange and began to flash.

She called for the stylist to rinse her hair so that she could go. Even so it was fifteen minutes before she could leave the salon, they insisted on blow drying her hair before she left. She jumped into her silver jaguar and sped toward Westminster and the office.

She remembered the first time that Mycroft Holmes had showed her the tastefully appointed, moderately-sized office. There was a desk, a phone, and a lockable filing cabinet on a geometrically patterned rug. Then he showed her his office: Leather chairs, red curtains, with a portrait of the queen on the wall.

A switch under her desk locked the door. He walked her into a closet, and with a touch of a hidden switch, another door opened to reveal a room of grey metal. Here was her true office. A place twice as wide as either of the other offices. One edge of the room was curved and a large flat monitor sat there on a white desk. The major sound was the hum of fans, and a glass floor revealed the presence of a truly vast computer room below. Behind the desk sat a huge chair. She slipped into it and without thinking, reached out to the keyboard and began typing. She looked up wondering if Mr Holmes would be upset, only to find a smile on the edge of his lips.

"This room ties into the communication hub for this city and a quarter of England. It monitors everything that passes through in a way that is completely undetectable."

"How many people know that this room exists?"

"Living people?"

"Yes."

"At the present time, there are two."

"But, how... did you kill them?"

Mycroft laughed. "No, I am not quite as Machiavellian as that. The room was created many years ago for secret work, and went unused. The connections were made by contractors who did not have the entire plan of the facility. The computers arrived piecemeal, and Dr. Andrews installed them himself to avoid detection."

"Dr. Andrew's program, is it working now?"

"Yes, the program is still running, but the data it generates is difficult to analyze. Can you write something that can interpret this data into a simple measure of the nation's health?"

Anthea's fingers flew across the keys. She marveled as she realized the size and depth of the data collected. With a few key flicks, she had put several pages of data on display on the back wall of the room. She dimmed the light with a slider on the side of her desk and examined the figures.

"You want one indicator? I'm not sure that this data can be analyzed with only one figure. There will need to be a number of programs reporting on different aspects of the problem. I suppose that I can make a master program that the others will report to. Then we can come up with some easily understood symbols to give us a general idea of the state of the nation. It would be imprecise, but functional. What is the admin password?"

"23569953GodSaveTheQueen" all words capitalized."

"Thank you." She began typing in earnest then as he stood beside the desk and watched.

"Well, I'll leave you to it then. Just come by the office if you need me. I am two on the speed dial."

"Who is number one?"

Mycroft raised his eyebrow at her and then left."

The Jaguar pulled into the garage, and she parked in a space beside the lift. It was early evening, and the garage was mostly empty. She jumped out of her car, and she had her phone out before the lift door had completely closed.

She texted Mycroft. **[Changes occurring. I am at the office monitoring.]**

**[Understood, on my way]** came the reply.

She turned the switch and walked into the hidden office sliding into her chair and tossing the displays onto the large screen with a flick of a finger. They were separate indexes, seemingly unrelated, but they clearly showed that some sort of large scale manipulation was occurring.

Communication to certain countries in South-East Europe had been disrupted slightly. An odd rise in the cost of oil in three Asian countries. An increase in certain tagged search terms: England, economy, tactical, border, transport, Uranium. Along with many more obscure factors were suggesting something, but at this time, she didn't know what. She dumped the summary analysis into a file and pulled it up on her phone before leaving to talk to Mycroft.

He had just arrived. She walked up to his desk, phone in hand, and he looked up at her pointedly. She was busy pulling up the data, but eventually she noticed that his gaze was a bit too insistent.

"You've done something with your hair," he said.

"Sorry, there was no time to finish styling it before I left."

"It looks nice. It looks...natural."

She tore her eyes from the phone and looked at him. "Are you alright, sir?"

He shook his head, "Oh it is nothing important. Just something that Sherlock was telling me ... about goldfish."

"Goldfish?"

"Unimportant. Now, what's the problem?"

In the end, they could not identify what was causing the change. Mycroft told her that he would think on it, but that she should continue active monitoring. If there was any change, she was to tell him.

"Yes sir," she said before heading to the door.

As her hand touched the handle, he asked, "Are you going to dinner now, Anthea?"

"Home," she said. "It's too late for the salon. I think that I'll just fix me a bit of supper and then do something with my hair before going to bed. Would you like me to order you something to eat before I go?"

"Oh don't worry yourself. Tonight the club is serving Roast Beef. I will be fine."

"Very good, sir. I'll see you tomorrow," she said as she strode out the door.

Just as she was closing it, she heard him say, "Good night, Anthea." And if his voice sounded a bit more wistful than usual, she chalked it up to a visit to Sherlock and a problem left unsolved.


	5. Chapter 5

It only took a day to find what was causing the problem. A terrorist group paired with a multinational trying to transport weapons grade Uranium out of China and into the Middle East. A few words to MI5 and the matter was solved. She had gone to lunch when a text arrived from Mycroft.  
**[Parents in town. Need you to be a PA today]**  
she cut her lunch short and rushed to the office. A buff to her black high heels and a bit more hair spray was all that she needed get into character. She sat behind the desk for the first time in over a week and looked for a letter to type. She had just opened a spreadsheet to work on their false budget when the door opened and Mycroft Holmes escorted his parents into the office.

She rose to her feet. Watching as a woman in a black coat chattered on about Sherlock's health. "He's too thin, but at least he's starting to get a bit of muscle on his shoulders. Must have been all that running about. You could do with a bit of exercising yourself. Get rid of that paunch you have from sitting around the office all day."

"Mummy."

"And who's this then? Going to introduce me, or will I have to do that myself?"

He gave a large sigh and then turned toward her. "Mummy, this is my PA, Anthea."

"Well you're a pretty thing, Anthea. Tell me, is my son currently seeing anyone?"

"Mummy!"

"Because if he is, I want you to encourage it as much as possible. You know. Send her the odd bouquet of flowers in his name. Remind him of birthdays and anniversaries. That sort of thing."

"Mummy, Is it truly necessary for you to attempt to embarrass me in front of everyone?"

She whacked him on the stomach with the back of her hand. "I'm only watching out for my own interests, Mycroft. Most other women my age are bouncing great grandchildren on their knees. And if I have to wait for Sherlock to get around to having children then you had better start working on the formula for immortality because that won't be happening anytime soon."

Anthea watched as Mycroft sheepishly followed his mother into his office. When she turned back, she was staring into the face of a kindly old man. He had a mischievous smile on his face. She tilted her head looking for traces of the serious Mycroft in this kindly old man when a shrill voice called from the other room, and he hurried away.

Anthea was struck by how different Mycroft's parent's were from her own. She frowned to remember the last time that she had seen her mother. In one way, Mrs Holmes interest in Mycroft's marrying was not that different from her own mother's, but on the other hand, it was completely different. Mrs Holmes' concern seemed to come from a deep feeling of caring about her son. Anthea had never felt that in her relationship with her mother. Her mother wanted her to marry in order to increase her own prestige. She wanted to be able brag about how well her daughter had married. She didn't care if Anthea was happy or not as long as she was related to nobility. Her own social climbing had left her a rung too low for her tastes, and she was determined that the next generation would climb higher whether they wanted to or not. Anthea tried not to feel too happy that she was foiling her mother's expectations. She was married to the state now, totally invested in keeping her country safe and successful.

Mycroft was the same way, but seeing how warm his parents were with him, she began to wonder. She knew from his personality that he was a dutiful son. Would he marry someone and have children just to make his mother happy? And what kind of woman would marry a man who could never tell her about the things that he cared about the most? His work was largely secret. What kind of wife wouldn't care that he never told her anything of consequence about his life? A wife like her mother wanted her to become. Someone who would stay home, look beautiful, and host fabulous parties. Mycroft could never be interested in such a woman, could he? She tried to imagine what his wife would look like, but she couldn't. Besides, she had always assumed that he was gay.

She called up her program in the corner of her monitor and watched as the line drew itself across the screen. What would the country be like if Mycroft Holmes wasn't there to take care of it? The crown was bright and steady now. Not like it was when James Moriarty had been around to manipulate things. Then they had been quite busy trying to counter all of his ploys. It wasn't until Sherlock had joined his brother in helping to destroy his organization that they had finally reached this level of stability again.

She sat up straight as the door opened.

"Remember, you're taking us to see_ Le Miserables_ tomorrow. Don't be late. I like to have time to read the playbill before the lights go down."  
"Yes, of course, Mummy," he said while rolling his eyes. His mother frowned at him and then pulled him down to kiss his cheek.

He skittered away from her like an embarrassed preteen and cried out, "Mummy!"

It took all of her resolved to sit quietly at her desk and not burst out laughing. although she wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to! When they had left, he walked back into his office with only one backward glance. She grinned as soon as he closed the door. Then she updated his calendar to make sure that would arrive at_ Le Mis_ on time.


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock's resurrection was quite the news item for a while. Mycroft even had ministers ask him about his little brother the celebrity. Odd to think Mycroft was so little known despite all that he did for the country. She supposed that most people did not understand his brilliance because, for the most part, he kept the things that he discovered to himself. She wondered, sometimes, what he thought about her? Did he spend time predicting her future life just as he did the future of the country? Did he already know in which county she would purchase her retirement home? Probably. But then again, she never expected to retire. He probably didn't either. Once one had held the entire British Government in one's hands, anything else seemed as pointless as a game of quoits.

Everything changed when Sherlock Holmes was shot. Mycroft rushed to his bedside, dropping everything that he was working on. She had her hands full canceling his meetings and redirecting urgent inquiries to other departments. For an entire week, he didn't come into the office at all. Luckily, the indices were flat. No major changes except for some odd wiggling in international communications. Not surprising considering a media mogul had recently been attacked.

One morning he sent her a text and she rushed to the hospital to pick him up in her own car. He was dressed in a suit as usual, but his clothes were dark and his tie was drab. He lacked the usual spark of style that lay hidden beneath the veneer of tradition that was his public face. She pulled out into traffic before she realized that she didn't know where he wanted her to go. "Sir," she said, "Where would you like me to take you?"

He looked at her with thoughtful eyes. "I don't know," he said. "Where do you want to go, Anthea?"

She remembered then the time when her aunt Margret had died. Aunt Maggie had been a shining light in her childhood. A person who understood both her love of learning, and her taste for fashion. When she was twelve, Maggie took her to Paris and bought her an entirely new wardrobe including hats. Her mother had called it a waste of money. "The child will outgrow them before the year is out," she said. Some of the clothes had indeed become a bit tight before long, but they were well made, and she was able to modify most of them herself to make them last. Maggie had died of cancer during the summer holidays when she was sixteen and Anthea had sat at her bedside all summer bringing her hats to cover her bare head and cheering her up after they told her that the cancer had spread throughout her abdominal cavity. Sometimes the bedside had seemed incredibly oppressive and she needed to go outside somewhere that the sky was big.

She decided where she wanted to go then, and she turned the car around. He said nothing, being lost in thought. He only looked up hours later when he noticed the car slowing. She drove into the gate of Kew gardens, paid the fee, and parked. As he stepped out in the car he stood taller, stretching himself as if he had been hunched over for days, then he set out across the grass and began to walk. She followed him until they passed the gate, and then she watched as he walked out over fields of green. It stirred something in her to see it. He was a master looking over the land that he sought to husband. She pulled out her phone and snapped a picture.

He walked slowly past azaleas and lilies under a bright largely overcast sky. He spent a great deal of time in the rose garden, bending over to smell them from time to time. Then he investigated the orchids in the greenhouse, speaking to her for the first time since that morning about the attempts to grow quinine during the Governorship of India to fight malaria. By the time that he finally climbed back onto the car, carrying a potted plant for Sherlock's bedside and a flower book to send to his mother, he was his old self again. Actually, he was more relaxed than he usually was and Anthea reveled in the feeling of calm that emanated from him. As she drove down the winding drive, she realized how she felt about Mycroft Homes.

From her earliest days working with him, she had trusted that what he did for the world was right. Before, the world had seemed to be merely a random group of chaotic experiences, but as she worked with Mycroft, she realized that there were people shaping the world and planning what it would become. This didn't cause her to be afraid as it did for so many other people. Instead it gave her a sense of peace to know that someone had a plan. She was comforted that the country was being tended as a garden in order to keep it beautiful forever more. And as she knew more about Mycroft Holmes she realized how lucky they were to have him as this country's gardener. Yes, he could be cruel at times, weeding out those who would cause harm, but for the most part, his work was benign. And he was capable of warmth and love, like the love that he felt for his family. She envied that.

When she finally returned him to the hospital, he was much improved. He looked into her eyes and gave her a playful, honest smile before saying simply, "Thank you."

She nodded, climbed back into her car, and drove a way resolving then and there to do whatever she could to make sure that Mycroft Holmes would be around to tend the world for years to come.


	7. Chapter 7

It was her father who convinced her to come home for Christmas. She wouldn't have done it for her mother. She came home the morning of Christmas eve resolving to stay in her room when she was informed that her mother had a huge party planned. She had decided to dress as plainly as possible to thwart her mother's plans, but her own pride wouldn't let her. When she finally came down from her room, she was dressed to the nines in a floor length red satin dress with garnets in her hair. It was the smallest form of rebellion possible to wear garnets instead of rubies as they were only semi-precious stones, but they had sentimental value. They had been a gift from a handsome old diplomat from Madagascar who was quite taken with her ability to stop the flight on which his son was being kidnapped with a word and a few taps on her phone. She stood on the top of the steps and tried to ignore her mother's self-satisfied smile.

It was only a quarter into the night before she realized that the guests at the party included the most eligible bachelors that were currently in London, and some of the most vacuous and plain women around. She was considering going back to her room when Helen arrived. She ran across the room to grab Anthea's arms smiling as though they were still schoolgirls. She showed off her ring and chided her for not coming to the wedding. She apologized profusely, not telling her that she had busy preventing an attack on a cruise ship by an Irish separatist organization at the time.

Her husband, David came forward then, looking at her with appreciative eyes before kissing her hand.

"So glad to see you again after all of this time, Patricia."

"It's Anthea now."

"Is it? The invitation clearly said Patricia Sutton."

Anthea turned to glare at her mother, but she was occupied talking with Mrs Waters whose daughter had married a Belgian accountant of no worth whatsoever. Anthea knew that he was quite well thought of in the international finance world. Strange to see things from this new perspective. So often people who were excluded or looked down on because of their birth were so much different in power when considered solely on skill and merit. Look at James Moriarty, for example. He was a nobody from nowhere, but he had become a power in his own right so big that he rivaled governments.

She excused herself and went into the study to look at her mother's desk in order to get a glimpse of the invitations that had gone out, but while she was alone in the room, lit only by the lamp on her mother's desk, David entered shutting the door behind him.

"Anthea, I've been dying to talk to you ever since I saw the invitation."

"Do you happen to have the invitation with you tonight?" she asked.

"Yes, it's right here," he said reaching into his pocket and pulling out a card that he held close to his chest. She walked toward him wondering at the glossy nature of the paper which seemed so unlike her mother only to find, when she finally did slip her hand over his to take it from him, that the card was an advertisement for a pub. She looked up into David's face only to find his lips pressed against her own as he pulled her body against him.

"You were always the smartest woman in the room as well as most beautiful woman. I have wanted to kiss you since the moment that I saw you, a vision of Aphrodite born into flesh."

He put his hand behind her neck, careful not to muss her hair as he kissed her again. She pulled away. "David, what is this about?"

"This is about me wanting you."

"No, I don't think so. I knew you at University, and although you did find me pretty, you were never attracted to me in that way."

"You underestimate your charms. Besides, you are so much more attractive now than you were then." He touched her lips with his once more and then started in on her neck. The care that he took to not rumple her dress or her hair made her feel sure that he had done this sort of thing before. She stepped back prying his hands off of her waist.

"David. Will you stop this? You are my best friend's husband, and besides, I know that you don't like to take risks unless you have something to gain. Why are you doing this?"

He stepped back and smiled, pushing his perfect hair back on his head as he smiled, "I said that you were the smartest woman in the room. I should just amend that to be the smartest person. You always see what others don't."

Anthea frowned at him and asked again pointedly, "What do you want?"

"That was a rum thing you did running off with Mycroft Holmes at the party. I wanted to talk to him about some plans I have. I know that he's the one who knows the real secrets about the government. I hear that up at number 10, they say his name in hushed tones. Some say he's the real power behind the throne. You're his PA aren't you? Tell me what does he really do? I've asked, but all they'll say is that he's an advisor. 'An advisor for what?' I ask, but no one will tell me. So be a sport and give me a heads up. What do you do all day in that office of yours? It must be exciting."

Anthea crossed his arms. "I'm sorry, but it is unethical for an assistant at my level to talk about her employer."

"Come now, Patty, I'm not some foreign spy trying to pry secrets out of you. I'm an old school chum who needs a leg up. So be a sport and help me."

"Excuse me, but I'm needed back at the party."

She started toward the door but he grabbed her from behind moaning out, "Please..." just as the door opened to reveal Helen. Anthea pulled away and walked out past her as Helen glared at her husband. Apparently this wasn't the first time that he had been caught alone with a woman. They left the party soon afterward, and Anthea excused herself to her room with a headache disappointing her mother's plans to introduce her to a duke.

Christmas day she showed her anger by not talking to Anthea at all, which suited her mood as well. She was just trying to figure out how to talk her way out of staying for supper when an urgent text came. It was their highest level code. She grabbed her bag and tossed it in the car, and with only a word she was speeding back to the office. A text came requesting that she meet him at the airport and she increased her speed planning to talk her way into a police escort if anyone tried to stop her.

It was already after dark by the time that she arrived, parking beside the runway and flashing her card to get in. A helicopter landed and Mycroft Holmes climbed out. A black car pulled up and they both got in speeding away.

"What is it? What's happened?" she asked.

"My brother. He shot Charles Augustus Magnussen."

Anthea opened her mouth and then shut it. The man was vile, everyone knew that, but he was useful. He could be persuaded, if his interests coincided with theirs, to publish articles that influenced certain people. He was not averse to spreading misinformation when necessary as well, but he was too proud of his power, and he always saw the worst in everyone. He disgusted her, but despite that, she would never have killed him. But Sherlock Holmes, despite his abrasive manner, was not the kind of person who would even notice his subtle jibes and insults. Mycroft had surely said worse things to him than Magnussen would have.

She turned to see Mycroft actually biting his nails. "Why?" she said.

"Do you need to ask? There is only one person that Sherlock would kill for."

Anthea doubted that. If he had to, she knew that Sherlock would kill to save his mother, or his father or Mycroft. He might doubt it, but she never doubted the love that everyone in that family held for each other despite, or maybe even because they never chose to express it in words. Even so, it was quite a problem. Magnussen was too big of a name to simply sweep under the rug. There would be inquiries and hearings and after all the scrutiny that Sherlock had been under before, it could easily become a media circus. A trial of the century to top that of James Moriarty's.

The information had to be contained. She texted the prime minister's secretary to find out where they were.

In the end, only the top level ministers, and security committee member knew the truth. Sherlock sat in a cell under heavy guard while Mycroft tried desperately to find a way to save his life and keep him free.

The public was told that Magnussen was shot during a robbery and the assailant was not found. Those with the power to demand that a proper investigation be launched had no desire to do so. No one liked him enough to care. Even so, Sherlock remained in limbo. He hadn't been acting in an official capacity, and disliking someone was not enough reason to absolve a person of murder. He was going to be allowed to stand trial until Mycroft made a deal.

Ever since Sherlock had dismantled Moriarty's organization almost single handedly, MI6 had their eye on him. There was a mission. It was very, very dangerous, but it would gain them some valuable information most likely at the cost of the life of whoever took it. Mycroft had talked Sherlock out of taking it before, but he knew that if he could get MI6 on his side, then they would make sure that the identity of Magnussen's killer would never come to light. He made the deal, and Sherlock Holmes became an agent working for the crown.

He went alone into the cell to tell Sherlock. Even outside the doors she could hear the screams.

"I'm doing what I think is best."

"Of course it's what's best, Brother Dear! I should have known that your concern lasted only so long. What is my life compared to your plans for conquest?"

"If you had thought before you pulled that stupid stunt, then we might have found another way to solve the situation."

"I did think. I did nothing but think about it, and it was the only way!"

"When will you realize that what you want in your personal life is never going to happen?"

"Leave now, before I commit another murder."

He walked out of the cage, and Sherlock slammed the door behind him. Mycroft's fury slowly bled away transforming into despair. He visibly shrank.

"Handle things. I'll be at the club," he said and left her behind.

At times like this, he went to the club to drink. One could get horribly drunk there, and sleep it off in the rooms upstairs or so she had been told. She had never set foot inside. She stood for a while wondering what the death of Sherlock Holmes would mean to his brother. Realizing how paralyzed he would be. How broken.

We like to think of the state as a machine. A device that does things for the good of all. But it isn't a machine. It is made of people, with mothers and lovers and brothers all of whom influence them in positive and negative ways. A Mycroft Holmes without his brother was not the confident man who had swept her away from a party in his smart suit and teal tie. He was not the clever man who fought those who threatened the country and won. He was not even the quiet man who thanked her with a playful smile before going to her brother's bedside. Mycroft without Sherlock was a broken man. A man unable to protect the one that he loved. Such a failure would seed doubt in his mind. It would make holes in his confidence that would weaken his ability to protect the state. Did no one else see this? Sherlock Holmes couldn't be harmed. He needed to be protected for the sake of the man who held the nation in his hands!

A thought came to her then and she left for the office, hardly noticing the world around her until she slid into that large black chair. She opened an editor and began to code a program. This would be subtle, the best and most devious program that she had ever written. No one would be able to detect it, and it could go everywhere through the vast cables beneath her feet.

The program was designed to broadcast itself on command and to cause a number of nonfatal outages that would make the nation call for action. She needed a name for the program, and suddenly it came to her. She searched the secret surveillance records until she found the right clip. She matched a separately recorded voice track to the image before enclosing it into the program which she released onto the net as a worm. The program would spread from device to device embedding itself in communications equipment, phones, video games, whatever it could reach, waiting for the code that would set it off. Afterwards she went home and had a warm bath.

She sat at his side as he drove to the airport to say goodbye to his brother. Mycroft was distant, relaying commands to her in a dead voice as if conveying to her the plans for a funeral. He was dressed well though. She had never seen that blue scarf with the diamonds before. She left the car at the gate not wanting to intrude on their privacy and allowed them to drive to the plane alone with only the driver, who was also Sherlock's guard. John Watson and his wife were on their way and she didn't want to be in the middle of a scene that was certain to become emotional.

She stepped into the building and made her way to one of the public areas searching until she found what she was looking for. A row of chairs next to a television screen. She pulled out her phone then, and typed in a single word.

MORIARTY

The signal left her phone and bounced, starting a wave of reactions. It was absorbed, and resent by device after device initiating the program which took command repeating the message that she had crafted for this very occasion. It was barely ten minutes before the broadcast on screen was interrupted by the image of a dark haired man with a bobbing lip as the sound rang out.

**"Did you miss me?"**

Anthea was dedicated to keeping the nation working at its best, and if she had to save Sherlock Holmes in order to keep his brother working at peak efficiency, then that was what she would do. Because a good planner doesn't wait for things to fail. She acts. And Anthea plans to make sure that Mycroft Holmes is whole and working for a long, long time.


End file.
